


When Drinking Gets You Somewhere

by iamyourownforever (Keepcalmanddontgetangry)



Series: e/R - Canon Era [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Bisexual Grantaire, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Confused Grantaire, Drunk Grantaire, First Kiss, Friendship, M/M, Pining Grantaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-03 01:56:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5272250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keepcalmanddontgetangry/pseuds/iamyourownforever





	1. Chapter 1

"It is ridiculous how beautiful Enjolras' hair is. Golden in the sunlight, and silver in the moonlight. I have never seen anything quite like it. Of course, he does nothing with it! Leaves it to hang over his face, or ties it up in the most unprofessional way with string. He should at least use a ribbon. And his body! Perfect in every aspect! It is almost disgusting. He could be mistaken for a statue if he stood still for long enough while naked. Imagine him standing in the palace, being admired by the King. Or in one of the squares and have hundreds come, from far and wide, simply to view his breath taking self."

"I doubt he would like it in a palace, Grantaire," Combeferre commented, picking up his ale mug and inspecting its contents. There appeared to be something lumpy at the bottom. "Not unless he were there to serve as a double agent. The Trojan Horse to our efforts."

"If he were the Trojan Horse, then each of us would have to be inside of him!" the drunk declared in triumph.

Joly, who sat beside Grantaire laughed as he rose his mug. He picked up a nearby bottle of something and filled Grantaire's own mug to the brim. Grantaire was spread across two stalls, half his body leaning on the table beside them. He grinned as Joly topped up his drink, raising it in the air too, as one would during a celebration.

"I think he’d like that even less," Courfeyrac said in a grave tone. “In fact, I do not think he would like it at all.”

Joly stopped laughing and tapped Grantaire on the shoulder. Grantaire turned one way and then the other, not seeing Joly behind him the first time.

"That's not as funny when you think about it, R," Joly said.

"It was a joke!" Grantaire insisted, shaking his head at all his friends with a smile. "Do not worry. I do not want any of you to be inside him."

"Dare I ask what you are speaking about, Grantaire," Enjolras said, joining their group between Combeferre and Feuilly.

"Grantaire thinks you belong in a palace for the Royals to admire all day," Combeferre said, taking a swig of his drink anyway. It was not likely that whatever was at the bottom of his mug could kill him.

"Does he?" Enjolras said raising a brow. He seeked out Grantaire's reddened face. The man greeted him with a grin, raising his ale mug towards him.

"That isn't all," Courfeyrac interrupted in haste. He could sense an argument coming along between them. That would be best to be avoided. "He also complimented your hair."

"Although he did say how you did not take care of it," Bahorel spoke up, much to an irritated glare from Courfeyrac. "He thinks you should wear it with a ribbon rather than with string."

"Ah yes, because Grantaire obviously has a taste for fashion," Enjolras said, his voice dull. "What's that? A wine stain on your sleeve? I am glad to see you are all having such thrilling conversation while I am not here. Perhaps we can now move on?"

"If Grantaire is finished admiring you?" Combeferre said as he gave Enjolras a kind smile. "We can move on."

"I was not admiring him!" Grantaire said suddenly, sitting up straight. "I was simply pointing out a perspective, which just happens to be mine, and wondered if it was shared by anyone else."

However, his defensive words fell onto deafened ears. Or at least ears that had something of more importance to listen to. Enjolras had stepped into the centre of the group. Grantaire leaned back against the table to watch him speak, as the others did too. The man’s voice evoked many a feeling within him. Some of which not even Grantaire would share with his friends. It was confusing, to say the least; and yet, at the same time, it was not confusing at all.

Grantaire leaned on an elbow. His gaze followed Enjolras as he stepped around the circle as if to speak to them each individually. When he stopped in front of him, Grantaire moved forward and welcomed him with a grin. Enjolras, not missing a beat in his speech, looked down at him with all hell's fury in his eyes. Grantaire could still feel the burn when he turned to Bossuet.

"That was intense," Grantaire thought aloud, and his fellow students cheered. Only, again, the reaction from his friends was not for him.

Fire was growing in Enjolras' words. Each man surrounding him was caught alight with it. Joly rose his mug again and shouted "hear, hear!" Bahorel slammed his hand on the table, and no one, save Grantaire, noticed Feuilly knock over an ale mug as he copied Bahorel's actions. When Enjolras' speech was over, there would surely be some confusion as to why both their laps were damp. Grantaire shrugged, sucking at the neck of his bottle. They would figure it out.

Oh but it was not over yet. The man was just reaching his climax. The rhythm of his talk for revolution, and "equality for all men", coincided with the beating of each man's heart. Heavy. On the verge of being terrified. And, most of all, alive.

There was sweat on Enjolras' brow from speaking with so much integrity and enthusiasm. At last he took a mug from Courfeyrac, taking a long drink to signify the end of his speech. The students applauded their leader one last time. The room echoed with the sound of their hands. Combeferre patted Enjolras on the back, and Grantaire smiled at the form of friendly affection between them.

"That's all very well and good," Grantaire spoke up, making sure he was heard this time over the proud chatter. "But when is this revolution of yours going to take place?"

Enjolras pulled a face that showed he had heard him, but wanted to act as if he hadn’t. Combeferre looked warily from him to Grantaire, shaking his head. Bossuet held his head in his hand, and those sitting closest to him knew that he was smiling at the floor. Someone coughed.

"Listen to that," Bahorel said in amusement. "First he criticises the way you wear your hair. Now he questions everything that you have spoken for! R, are you capable of keeping your thoughts to yourself?" It was said in jest; Grantaire took no offence.

"The time is not yet right," Enjolras said. There was just a touch of sensitivity in his voice. "You know better than to think it is, Grantaire."

"On the contrary, I do not think anything of your timing... that is, I do not particularly care," Grantaire said with a shrug. "I am simply questioning why you rally us now? If the time is not yet right?"

"There's no harm in being prepared," Courfeyrac said, coming to stand behind Enjolras. He looked over his shoulder to Grantaire, shaking his head the way one would at a child pushing their limits with a tired parent. "Nor is there harm in spreading the word for when the time is right."

Grantaire shrugged, eyes on Enjolras. "Is that so? Are you recruiting? In that case, I apologise for my confusion." He stood up, clapping Enjolras on the shoulder as he walked past him. "That must be why I recognise every face here!"

Enjolras' face turned sour. Joly laughed, along with a few others whose merriment was not as recognisable as his. Grantaire did not turn to see who; instead he took his leave. He was in no mood to argue with anyone today, especially not Enjolras. Already embarrassment crept over him for all that he had said before and after Enjolras had joined them.


	2. Chapter 2

Embarrassment followed him onto the street.The night's air was chilled. The sky was clear; Grantaire found himself gazing up at it with a feeling that could resemble awe... if his mind were not racing over the man he had just left.

With no sense of direction, which only the drunk are blessed with, Grantaire left the view of the stars in favour to stumble down the street. The stars would be there tomorrow, and every night that followed. Besides, whenever Grantaire looked up to them he was forced into being reminded how small they all really were. A reminder that also served as a reason to find his next drink.

It was good that he had left when he did, even if loneliness did decrease his already shaken sense of self worth. That, mixed with the embarrassment that had followed him, was what influenced Grantaire to dock inside a nearby shop and buy a bottle of wine to walk with. It made the best and worst company.

At last he reached the river. The movement of water had always soothed him in a way. The tide was coming in. However, it was still low enough for Grantaire to sit on down on the steps that would usually lead to its banks. Thoughts of Enjolras still ran through his head.

He should not have made that joke about the Trojan Horse. Joly was right, it had not been all that funny; even though he had laughed the loudest. Grantaire sighed, rubbing his face with the palm of his hand. The image of actually being inside Enjolras arouse in his mind. Suddenly Grantaire was thankful that no one was around to see the deep shade of red his cheeks had turned; though, if they had been, they would suspect it to be the drink.

Grantaire shook the thought from him. Not willing to admit that this was not the first time it had occurred to him. Often, when it had before, he was not as sober. A contradiction considering that he was, in fact, currently in a state of drunkenness. But he was not drunk enough to allow his mind to wander that far into the murky waters of his mind. He was not in an alcoholic bliss deep enough to let him drown. Imagination like that could not swallow him whole tonight, not without some resistance.

It was with much reluctance, and a pinch of bitterness, that Grantaire made himself think over the desire that washed over him with so much ease. Of course he knew that he had always been this way; as much as he might try to deny it. Then again, no one had ever questioned where his loyalties in love might be.

Of course, he had always bragged about his success in the bedroom. However, he often made himself out to be the object of desire, in the pursuit, rather than his partner. Although he did too speak of the people who he had had in his bed. The women, who he spoke of freely, and the others who he was careful not to give a sex to. If his friends assumed they were all women, then they were the asses, not he. Most of it was only wishful thinking anyway.

Both women and men were beautiful, in their own way. Grantaire could not say that a person's sex had ever really been a part of what attracted him to them. It had always been something else. Some other desirable factor. What Enjolras possessed, he did not know... or he very much did and did not want to delve in to. He scowled.

Why must his mind insist on returning to Enjolras? The man irritated him, somewhat. Though Grantaire had to admit that he liked to see him annoyed. There was something to be said about the way it only made him persevere in his efforts; whether those efforts be surrounding his cause, or arguing back with whoever disagreed with him: namely Grantaire.

It was not that he did not like him. In actuality, Grantaire liked Enjolras a lot. The man was driven, which was more than he could say for himself. But he looked down on Grantaire for that fault, and rarely said a kind word towards him. Grantaire knew that his own behaviour did not help, nor did his drinking.  

The strong taste of alcohol burned its way over his tongue; continuing all the way down his throat. As was the way of cheap wine. Grantaire emptied half of the bottle's contents into his stomach, finishing what had been left in one. He would immerse himself with thoughts of Enjolras, one way or another. Even if it meant that he had to forcefully drown himself. He would do it. Better to be unaware than aware of how far he was sinking. Better to be drunk than sober.

What Grantaire did become aware of next was the sound of someone calling his name. With a groan he sat up straight. It was as if he had been shot in the head. His neck, shoulders and back were stiff from being slumped forward. The air had taken a chill around him, and his feet were wet.

The calling of his name came again from a voice he knew. "Grantaire? Where are you?"

Scrambling to his feet, Grantaire stumbled up the stairs. The river had risen, he realised as he stepped back onto the street. The sky was no longer so dark.

"I am here," he announced, holding onto the rail that stopped those with less than graceful feet from falling in. He looked around for the one who had called his name. There was a spur of some relief when he spotted one of his friends. "Hey! Bossuet! I am here!"

Bossuet, who had had his back to him, had been ready to search the entire length of the Seine if it had come to it, turned to him. "Grantaire!" he said, approaching him in a quick pace. "I am glad to have found you. We have been searching for you; see how the sun shall rise soon." He put an arm underneath Grantaire's armpit; noting the coldness of his body, compared to his own, as the drunk leaned on him. "We thought that you might return, so did not begin our search until the end of the meeting," he admitted as he steered the walk towards the nearest home.

"We?" Grantaire inquired, holding onto one of Bossuet's broad shoulders.

"Joly and I," Boussuet said. "We had some idea of where you might go; there are only so many shops that sell cheap wine at the hour you left. The shopkeeper tipped us off on which direction you had gone once you had left. That was the third place we checked, mind. Joly suspected another bar, but I thought of the river."

"I did not want to be around other people," Grantaire said, as if to excuse why he had not gone to another bar. Then again, if he really had wished to hide from his friends, he knew of many places to get wine that they did not.

"I am just glad that I've found you," Bossuet repeated, and Grantaire knew that he meant it.

The rest of the journey proceeded in silence. As Joly's apartment was the closest to the river, that was their destination. Once inside, Bossuet helped Grantaire onto the spare bed which he himself usually slept on. It was while he was removing his shoes that he noticed the dampness of his friend's feet.

"Down on the steps, were you?" he asked in a wary tone. "Lucky that I found you when I did. The tide was coming in. What if you had drowned?"

Grantaire grumbled something nearly inaudible about how it would not matter if he had.

"Do not say such things, Grantaire!" Bossuet scolded, hearing every word. "Joly will look over you when he returns. But for now, get some rest. I'll loan you some socks to keep your feet warm."

Both men were sound asleep when Joly came home; Grantaire, in borrowed socks, wrapped in too many blankets, and Bossuet stretched out over two chairs. He woke on Joly's return, and, in low voices, the two men discussed the night’s events. Grantaire did not move until the mid-afternoon. The smell of Joly frying onions, egg, and bacon woke him.

"Ah, look who is finally awake," Joly said, serving Bossuet a plate before making one for Grantaire. "How do you feel? You look better than you did from when I last checked on you."

"I have a piercing headache, an empty stomach that threatens to bring up its contents anyway, and a stiff lower back," Grantaire announced as he sat down next to Bossuet. "But I am warm, and well enough. I have woken up in worse conditions than this and recovered perfectly fine. There is no need for your concern, though I do thank you for it." He cleared his throat. “Bossuet’s socks helped.”

Joly smiled as he served Grantaire his plate, as well as his own. They said a prayer, out of habit, before tucking into their meal. Conversation remained light. Bossuet did mention some worry over Grantaire's wet feet, even though Joly assured him that there was little to be worried about.

Near the end of the meal Grantaire said, "I suppose I had better apologise to everyone for creating such a stir yesterday evening. Explain to Enjolras that I did not mean to interrupt him as much as I did."

Joly and Bossuet shared a glance. Grantaire looked from one to the other, knowing that he was not going to like what either of them had to say next.

"Actually, I may have heard Enjolras say to Combeferre," Bossuet began, "about how it had been one of the smoothest meetings he had ever experienced. They seemed to agree."

"But," Joly added in haste, "it was Enjolras who suggested that, once we had found you, we watched over you for the night."

Grantaire looked between them, unsure of what to say. It had been an excuse, of course, to see Enjolras; a pretense of reason. However, if Enjolras thought that the meeting had run better without him there… Grantaire shook his head.

“I shall see him anyway. Thank him for his concern.”

Neither Bossuet nor Joly argued with him. They had an inkling, and were both were interested to see how it would all play out.


	3. Chapter 3

It was late into the afternoon when Grantaire found Enjolras; he had just finished taking one of the seminars that was expected of him from the university. Grantaire walked in on Enjolras collecting sheets of paper from abandoned tables, deep in thought. 

Sun spilled into the room from the large arched windows. For a moment Grantaire was struck by his awe. With the light coming from behind Enjolras, it was as if Grantaire had been blessed by the presence of an angel. Enjolras turned his back to him, looking out to the city. The allusion was ruined when Enjolras sneezed, the dust from the windowsill going up his nose. 

"Bless you," Grantaire said as he stepped out of the shadows, making himself known. 

Since leaving Joly's he had returned home, changed clothes and even washed a little. It had all been part of preparing himself to see Enjolras. Nerves had tickled him the entire time. So much so that he may have helped himself to a glass of wine before leaving. For moral support.

"Grantaire, I see you are all in one piece," Enjolras said, turning his head to greet him. "What're you doing here?" he added with one raised eyebrow. 

"I came to see you," Grantaire said with a smile. He advanced into the room, leaning against the table opposite Enjolras. "Um, to apologise for yesterday," he continued, scratching the back of his head. "Interrupting and... well, I do not know how much you heard? But for all I said before your arrival... I apologise for that too." 

Much to Grantaire's surprise, Enjolras gave him a small smile. He sat on the window ledge, his arms crossed over his chest. Combeferre and Courfeyrac had filled him in on the drunken ramblings of Grantaire from the previous night. Some of it was amusing. Some of it he would have liked to have heard with his own ears. 

Enjolras shrugged. "It was one of the smoothest meetings we've ever had. I do not know whether your absence had something to do with that but..." 

“It did?" Grantaire finished with a bitter laugh. If he did not laugh he was sure to make some other sound which was not nearly as pleasant. "Right. I understand." 

Again Enjolras shrugged as by means to reply. Grantaire shook his head. They stood in silence, neither knowing what to say to the other. It was Enjolras who broke it. 

"You will be at the next meeting, Grantaire?" he asked, voice casual. 

Grantaire lifted his shoulders, looking past Enjolras' ear to the scene outside. The sun was setting. At last the feelings of the night would rise.

"Do you think I should be?" he said in an equally casual manner. 

"Everyone was concerned when you did not return last night," Enjolras said. "I do not know a single person who does not like you." 

"I have no need to make enemies," Grantaire mumbled. Then, louder, "Do you like me?"

"You are good for morale," Enjolras said with another shrug. He could not work out what Grantaire wanted from him. "I appreciate that."

There was a slight pause before Grantaire said, "Were you?" 

"Excuse me?"

"Um, were you uh, concerned?" Grantaire asked. He felt bashful in asking. "With my not returning, um, last night. Were you concerned?"

Enjolras studied him. "Joly and Bossuet said that they would find you," he said, with a frown that was ever so slight. "I insisted that they stayed with you once they had." 

"Why?"

"Why?" Enjolras repeated, surprised by the question. He pushed away from the window ledge, standing up straight. "Where did they find you last night, hm? Where had your drunken feet wandered? Forgive me for not wanting you to get yourself kill--"

Enjolras was unable to finish his sentence, and not because he had run out of words. 

Grantaire, who was overcome by Enjolras’ unfamiliar concern towards him, had been unable to stop himself from stepping right in front of him. An ill timed, clumsy, kiss was placed onto Enjolras’ perfect lips. Grantaire pulled back immediately, eyes wide.On realising what he had done, he tripped backwards over a chair in his attempt to get away. 

Enjolras stood motionless. His face unchanged. Grantaire was hunched over at his feet. It took a while for Enjolras to notice that the drunkard was shaking. 

"I... I did not mean for that to happen," Grantaire said, holding his head in his hands. "I'm-- I'm sorry..."

He wanted to block everything out. Never had he made so much of a fool of himself... while relatively sober. Shame washed over him, a sensation that Grantaire had become too used to while thinking of Enjolras. Only he had never wanted it to happen with the man so close by.  

Then again, Grantaire felt deep in his being that there was no way he could have acted any differently. Never had Enjolras so openly shown him any kind of attention, let alone concern, and here he had been; irritated at the idea of Grantaire not accepting his worry. He had had to kiss him. There had been no other way to express how much that meant to him. And then, there were those buried feelings to consider. The ones that should never have come into play. 

He should have never gone for Enjolras' lips. 

"Grantaire..." Enjolras said at last; the name had not changed on his tongue. With hesitation in his fingers, Enjolras' hand found itself in the mess of Grantaire's hair. "Oh Grantaire," he soothed, closing his eyes. What could be said? Grantaire had kissed him; he who had never kissed anyone before. Enjolras put a finger to his lips. He traced over them like a lover would... like Grantaire would, no doubt, if given the chance. Enjolras sighed. He had been caught off guard. "You should not kiss someone while they are in the middle of speaking," he said, kneeling at Grantaire's level.

Grantaire recoiled as Enjolras came down to face him. He turned his head, refusing to look him in the eye. There was still a hand in his hair. Enjolras' hand, Grantaire thought in disbelief. It now cupped the back of his head. He had not yet stopped shaking. 

"I did not think," Grantaire said, and it was a statement of complete truth. "I just... I was overcome with... I should have stopped myself." 

With his other hand, Enjolras held Grantaire's cheek. This was, finally, enough to stop Grantaire from shaking; though the action itself sent a shiver down his spine. Their eyes met. Grantaire, with tentative fingers, held Enjolras' wrist. Shadows had begun to stretch across the dusty floor. On their knees, behind all the tables and chairs, they were both quite hidden from anyone who might have come through the door. 

"Perhaps," Enjolras said, feeling as though he was seeing Grantaire for the first time. This man who had kissed him and then promptly fallen to his feet. "But you may always try again."

It took a second, but understanding did dawn on him. Grantaire's eyes lit up as if he had never heard anything so beautiful. "I may?" he asked, still unsure. Had Enjolras really granted him permission?

Fingering a thick curl, Enjolras nodded. He marvelled at Grantaire's reaction. Who would have thought that the drunk's feelings could run so deep? Then again, had Courfeyrac not told him that Enjolras was an  _ artist _ ?

"You may," Enjolras assured. 

His eyes fell to Grantaire's full lips while the tip of his tongue licked his own. Grantaire stared at the involuntary action; heart pounding in his chest. His thumb rubbed a circle into Enjolras' wrist, his other hand cupping his cheek, the same way Enjolras' held his own. Enjolras lowered his eyes. His hand cool against Grantaire's flushed cheek. 

It was Enjolras who brought them together. He pressed his forehead against Grantaire’s, breathing hard. Grantaire moved his hands to cup the back of Enjolras' head. Afraid that if he did not have some sort of hold on him he would disappear, revealing to Grantaire that it was all only a dream. 

"You're beautiful, you know that?" Grantaire spoke as if he were not awake. He would not dare speak such pretty words to Enjolras’ face if he was so sure of his reality. "So beautiful." 

"Are you going to kiss me again?" Enjolras huffed, though he did not mean to sound sour. His fingers ran through Grantaire's hair; doing his best to encourage him any way he could. 

Grantaire's entire face turned red. Before he could convince himself otherwise, he pushed his lips to Enjolras' again. This time, as it was expected, his kiss was returned. Grantaire was ecstatic. 

It was difficult to convey how much passion he felt for Enjolras through something as small as a kiss. Grantaire longed to open his mouth and slide his tongue between Enjolras' lips. To taste him and savour him in a way he had not long ago dreamed. Yet even Grantaire knew better than to waste a good thing when it came to him.

Their lips parted. Enjolras kept their heads together, even as Grantaire let out a deep breath. Without warning, he let out a laugh. It was a warm bubbling sound, one that Enjolras had only ever heard from a distance. To be so close to Grantaire, while he laughed, and hear it the way that their friends did, Enjolras could not help but admire how jolly it was. No wonder everyone found the drunk such great company; when happy he really could light up a room.  Of course, Enjolras thought as Grantaire's arms wrapped around his back, he had known that. 

They embraced. Grantaire nuzzled his face into the nook of Enjolras' beautiful neck. Slender fingers held him there a while longer, and Grantaire was granted the honour of knowing exactly how soft Enjolras' skin was.

When Enjolras pulled away Grantaire could not blame him. He had held him for longer than he could ever have imagined. The memory of doing so would be enough to satisfy any sort of longing he was likely to experience in the future. 

Enjolras patted the back of Grantaire's neck before they parted for good. Getting to his feet, Enjolras let go of Grantaire entirely; brushing down his front and straightening his sleeves. 

Afraid that his legs would not yet be able to carry him, Grantaire remained on his knees. He looked up to Enjolras with awestruck eyes, reaching up to him with both hands. They landed on his waistcoat and took hold, creasing the fabric again. 

"You must get up now," Enjolras said, voice neither cruel nor kind. He held Grantaire's hands in his own as he pried them from him. "We cannot stay here."

With a nod, Grantaire got to his feet. It would be foolish to think that they could go any further, or even kiss again. Enjolras was right; where they were was far too public. 

"You will be at the next meeting?" Enjolras asked when they were on the street, about to part ways. He had received no real answer when he had last asked, and he really did feel like Grantaire was an integral part of their group. Even if he did sometimes go out of his way to irritate them all. 

"Yes," Grantaire replied with a sigh too heavy to suit either of them. "If you will have me?"

"Our meetings are always open to you," Enjolras reminded him. "I assure you that you will be missed if you are not there." 

Grantaire opened his mouth as if to argue, Enjolras could tell by the crease of his brows. But, much to his relief, Grantaire closed it again, opting to nod instead. "I'll be there," he said. "Buy me a drink when you arrive too." 

Enjolras would have protested if Grantaire hadn't pecked his cheek, and then turned to hurry halfway down the street. His cheeks turned red, only too aware of what a ridiculous risk Grantaire had taken to kiss him again. When Enjolras' bearings came back to him, he put a hand to his cheek and felt where Grantaire’s lips had been. 

Later that evening, Combeferre commented that he was smiling more than he usually did. Enjolras had no answer for him to why, although his mind did drift back to Grantaire. He did hope that the man kept his word.


End file.
